by P. S. Power
Nothing happened for a long time, then there was a single flash behind them by about a mile. No one was looking at it, but from the brilliance George and only he, had an idea of what had just happened.
“Fucking hell… Down! Cover your heads!”
They didn’t really have time, but he pulled Regina to the earth, and several of the men around him managed to yell the instructions. About a quarter of the men just stood there though, so were hit with debris and knocked to the ground for their troubles. Some of them were dead. Then, so were most of them who’d ducked.
A lot of the Tollan were as well. Only the leader, in the back, was able to get up and run then. A few of his men were moving, but not anywhere near the eight thousand or so he’d brought in for the fight.
Looking down he saw Regina staring up at him. Alive, but in shock.
“Sorry, but I have something to see to here. Someone to kill, before he can hit us again like this. On the good side, I understand how they hit Chicago. We won’t have to deal with radiation poisoning, I don’t think. Now... I need to chase him. Damn, my feet are killing me. Remind me to invent comfort insoles if I live through this.”
Then, since it was the fastest way to do it, he took off running, heading for the Wizard, hoping that what he’d done would take a whole lot more out of him than could be recovered in an hour. Otherwise the man would probably just kill him. Then come back and kill them all.
It was kind of interesting, running through the reeking men on the ground. They weren’t as tidy as possible, but that was probably due to all the travel, not personal hygiene as a people. The Stenic army wasn’t rose scented at the moment either. He jogged, only to be joined by Captain Herret, as well as several other men. The Tollan, even those who got to their feet, just stood there, letting him pass.
It was, most likely, all they could think to do.
Chapter twelve
For the first time since the explosion had sent a piece of steel ripping through the right side of his brain, George warped back into the Springfield reality on a plane. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been on one since then or anything like that. Just the first time when he blinked, then opened his eyes on that kind of fast movement, hurling through the air.
It was disconcerting.
Like he often did, if he got a chance, George looked around first, before commenting or acting as if he was insane or on drugs. That had taken him a while to get used to. There was always a shock when he was in one place, then suddenly in another. Always. This time he’d been running when it happened and had stopped to work out which direction to go next. To hobble in, since his sore feet and exhausted legs weren’t really doing much. The other men chasing the leader of the Tollan had gotten well ahead of him, after about half an hour.
Still, it was his job to stop the man. Not just for the safety of one world, but of two.
Possibly.
Sitting there at the moment, a heavy set woman that smelled like baby powder to his right and a thin funny looking man on the aisle next to him, it didn’t feel like there was a lot that he could do to save anything. Apparently, no matter where he was going, whoever was paying, wasn’t bothering to go in for first class. That probably meant it was the government.
True, if they were pleased with you they sometimes sprung for things like that. There was a constant issue with secret missions of all sorts, however. They couldn’t admit to anything, so wouldn’t be able to show they were pleased with you publicly.
The lady next to him, who seemed to be about fifty, and was plump, but not so heavy she spilled over into his seat or anything, smiled at him.
“Ah, back among the living? I wish I could sleep on planes like that. Luckily this is a short hop. Do you go to D.C. often?” She sounded sweet enough about the whole thing. Not that he really wanted to talk about it.
It wasn’t just mental, he knew. Other than a short nap, sitting up, George hadn’t rested in over two days. Not that it wasn’t better than what he had going on in Stena. There he was aching, injured, and so run down that pursuing a man who could make nuclear style explosions with his mind was about the worst idea he could imagine. The problem there was the constant one.
Someone had to do it. No one else had volunteered. Not that he could trust to get it done.
Captain Herret was solid, as were the other men chasing the guy in white fur, but they weren’t him. It was, after all, his delusion. That would probably mean that he’d manage to win, somehow. Those others had a harder road to hoe on the whole thing.
Smiling, he shook his head a bit.
“Not really. I used to end up going about three or four times a year, but lately not so much. I’ve been avoiding it, I guess.” That was, more or less the truth.
After all, his grasp on reality wasn’t all that firm, so he hadn’t gone after keeping up with anyone in the intelligence world. That they recalled him at all was suspicious, to be honest. Him being flown to D.C. for a debrief was a big deal, however. It meant that they weren’t planning to throw him to the wolves instantly. If that had been the case, then he would have just been arrested, probably by local police in Springfield, when he’d gotten home earlier.
That had been about four hours before, he realized. Not that he had a watch on, but he recalled what had happened the whole time he was out, if not what the other him was thinking. There had been a phone call, from the General himself. The man hadn’t been terse or anything, but had been careful. Guarded. Telling him to pick up a ticket at the airport, which had been paid for already.
Coach. That meant a lot as well. They wanted to see him in person, but they didn’t really think the world needed to understand he was a hero. A thing he had to agree with.
The lady next to him, her face made up well enough to show she hadn’t totally given up on life yet, shook her head a little bit.
“Because of all the terrorism? When I was a kid this kind of thing didn’t happen all the time. Did you hear about that Muslim priest that was murdered earlier? I know that not all Muslims are evil, but after everything, what did they expect to happen? I…” She actually blushed a little bit, and shook her head. It was a larger thing this time. “I don’t know. It’s awful, of course. No one should be killed like that.”
The thin man on the other side just nodded along with the words. He had long hair, which was pulled back tightly, and thick, black rimmed, glasses. Ones with lenses in them that were thin and modern seeming. Distorted, meaning they were real, but light enough that he didn't need birth control glasses. It probably meant the man was a hipster. George had to keep himself from staring, having never seen one of those before in person.
The guy shrugged a bit.
“Yeah. I bet it was the CIA. They never met a problem that they couldn’t kill. If we just understood Islam better, terrorism wouldn’t be a thing, you know?”
George really didn't want to debate the premise, but kind of had to, since the man was an idiot. Others could hear him and if no one spoke out and corrected the errors, then they might walk away thinking he was correct.
“Not really. Terrorism is part of Islam. Not the whole of it, by any means, but they’re required to kill those that don’t follow their beliefs in their way correctly. The closer you get to understanding them, the harder they have to attack. We’ve been hit what, twenty times here in the last five years?” He looked at the man, who tensed, ready to argue the point emotionally, no doubt. George didn’t give him a chance. “In that same time there have been five thousand attacks on other Muslims in the Middle East. So, no, the trick here won’t be in just going along with them, or learning their ways. Not that we shouldn’t understand them, but we have to actually do it right. Learn what they really think, not just what makes us feel good in the moment.”
At least the woman on the window side of him seemed to agree, since she nodded. Quietly.
Hipster Glasses glared however.
“That’s racist, man. You can’t say that they’re all terrorists like
that!” He was getting a bit loud, which was a tactic that people who were incorrect often used. The hope was that he could shut George up by being a bully. Probably while claiming to be the victim somehow.
George just smiled a little.
“Islam is a religion, not a race. Like you said, it isn’t all of them. Just ten to twenty percent or so. Have you ever considered reading up on the topic? You seem like a smart guy.”
That got a snort and more bristling from the man, but no immediate rejoinder.
“What makes you think I haven’t read up on them?”
George didn’t really want to cause a scene, since doing that was probably about the worst way to keep his cover as was possible, but this wasn’t about the man next to him. It was about everyone else on the plane that could hear them.
There was tension in the thin man’s voice, as if he wanted to hit someone. That wasn’t going to happen, however. If it did, George didn’t love the man’s chances. Not that being skinny meant he couldn’t fight at all. George was pretty good, even unarmed. In two worlds. That knowledge translated as well, so if it came to that he’d win. Though it might make him late to his meeting, so he nodded a little, instead of just hammering the man with the obvious. He wasn’t well read on the topic, or he wouldn’t have been saying stupid shit in public.
“That was an assumption, given that you were missing pieces of information. Sometimes you can tell things like that, based on what people say. If you, a smart person, knew what was going on, what Islam requires of its followers, you wouldn’t have said what you did. You aren’t totally wrong. A lot of Muslims are great people. Even the ones that want you dead for not living their way aren’t all that bad, if you can get past the part where they want to behead you. What those people aren’t, however, are people that will give in because you explain your ways to them well enough. Though if you convert and live their way, picking the right sect for the individual, they might let you live. Unless they kill you randomly, by mistake. That’s fine though, since Allah will make sure you get to the right place in that case, so it’s all good.”
He sounded calm. Almost sleepy about it. The man didn’t seem happy to hear the words at all, of course. Hipster Glasses didn’t start screaming, which was a great sign. Doing that on a plane wasn’t going to help anything.
There was a head shake though.
“That just leads us to hate though. You can’t think that way, blaming all of Islam for the actions of a few people. Like I said, it’s racist.”
George looked over at him and sighed.
“Fuck. I didn’t realize you were that slow. Sorry. Let me try again… Islam isn’t a race. It’s a religion, so it can’t be racist to speak out against them. Also, we shouldn’t vilify all of them. I just said that. You heard me, right?” He spoke to the man as if he were mentally handicapped, which got the fellow to make a face, but the woman next to George to nod her head slowly. Her hair was dark brown, but had a dyed look to the whole thing.
“He did say all of that. Maybe we should change the subject? Arguing the point here won’t help anyone.”
George winked at her then, trying to seem pleasant.
“Good point. We aren’t going to fix the problem here today. I don’t know how to do that anyway.” Though putting a bullet through the brain pan of the man in charge might have slowed things down a bit. The big issue was that a very dangerous factor, the fireball Wizard, had walked away. If he wasn’t responsible for the big attack on Chicago a few months back, then…
The thing there was that the description was too close for that to have not been the case. The Wizard was a man like him. One who lived in more than one place. Worse, he had powers of the mind that just didn’t make sense to him. All of George’s skills took tools, except for fighting. Even that could have used some firearms over in Stena.
The man on the aisle side actually relaxed then, and stopped talking for a bit. When he spoke, it was just after the Captain of the craft told them they were about to land at Dulles. Just as they stood up, Hipster Glasses shook his head and went for the last zinger.
“You’re wrong, you know that? Filled with hate. Racist scum.” He didn’t smile, but seemed to be ready to run, which was a mistake, since they both still had to get their bags.
Rather than argue the point, George just smiled at him.
“What if I’m not though? What if I just have more information than you do? The only way to find out is to really research the idea, instead of just parroting what you’ve heard from sources that also haven’t really studied anything. The worst that happens is that you find out you were wrong. Then you can change and find a better way. If you can work out how to stop Islam from running over us all gently, one that will work, I’m all in. We all are.” He really was.
The man grabbed his bag, which was a world war two military style pack, made of canvas. It had been on the top level, across the aisle, over the head of the small blonde woman who was sitting there, not getting up yet, since fighting for that kind of thing made the whole process slower for everyone, not faster.
Rather than give a considered opinion, the hipster looking fellow waited until the plane started to clear in front of them, then looked over his shoulder at George.
“Fuck you, man.”
Then he scurried off, as if that parting shot was going to wound him to the core. George grinned at the whole thing, then shook his head. It was the youthful blonde who spoke to him, having witnessed the whole thing.
“Wow. That… It’s like he couldn’t hear what you were saying at all. Even if he disagreed, you had good points.” She seemed bothered by the whole thing, as if it were going to be a problem later. It wouldn’t. Hipster Glasses wasn’t going to wait to attack him in the airport or anything. George had better things to do than carry the man with him, even in his thoughts, past that point. So it was more or less fine.
The girl, and she wasn’t old at all, got a smile however. She was cute, in a slightly small, heart faced way. Probably just old enough to land a man in jail for being too close to her, but that wasn’t what they were there to do that day.
“Things will come around, eventually. People are good at learning new things, if the facts hit them in the head often enough. The problem with our friend there isn’t that he’s stupid, just that the reality of things hasn’t been close enough to him yet. It might not happen, but that will just mean he lives in a safe enough world to hold to his beliefs, which isn’t a horrible thing.” As long as he didn't lose everything for himself and those around him by insisting on foolish ideals that couldn’t work in the real world.
He was followed off the plane by the young lady, her single carryon bag in her right hand. George had one as well. A small tan thing that he used for carrying gym gear. It was packed properly, with a shirt, jeans, socks and toiletries. Not because he was staying the night, but due to the fact that if you didn't have those things it would set off TSA alarm bells. They were used to seeing specific things and if you didn’t have them, you could trigger them hard enough to ruin your own day.
The girl nodded, looking up at the people waiting for them closely.
“My mom should be here… There.” There was a finger pointing at a slightly older and heavier version of the girl, which made some sense to George when he saw her. They weren’t identical, but they fit together well enough.
Next to her was a red haired young man in an Army dress uniform, holding a sign that said Elder on it. That was a bit more obvious than he would have figured on getting, to be honest. The man was familiar, as were the two behind him, dressed in green. Nicely, which was different than what he would have done, trying to keep secret things hidden. Walking over, heading in the same direction as the girl, got him looked at with a slightly confused air. He understood that one, so winked at her.
“What, you weren’t inviting me to meet your mom?” He chuckled a bit as she looked mildly panicked then, as if he were serious. Instead of explaining he waved at the military men.
“I’m George Elder.”
The young man in front, who looked older here, but who had been on the catapult crew at the battle, just hours before, nodded at the words.
“Major Elder. We have a car waiting for you. This way?” The man didn't salute, which was good, since there had been a sudden promotion just then. He’d been a lieutenant, once upon a time, but never even a captain, much less a full rank above that. There were people listening, so he didn't comment on it.
The blonde girl was hugging her mother, but glanced over at the men as they left, seeming a little puzzled for some reason. Probably because he’d said that not all Muslims were bad people. That was just true, so had to be admitted. That some of them were great didn’t mean that anyone was going to get out of dealing with the rotten ones. It could have also been that he didn’t look all that military now. His hair wasn’t exactly long, but it was kind of shaggy at the moment. He was fit, thanks to diet and exercise, but he was in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a heavy jacket with him. Gloves as well. D.C. could be chilly that time of year. It was spring, but that didn’t mean a cool day might not be coming soon. Not that it was cold, when they got outside. It was still light out and probably close to fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Cool on his arms, but not bad enough for him to put his heavy coat on.
When they got to the loading zone a nice black sedan was waiting for them. The windows were tinted, and he was ushered into the back of the thing. There was no one waiting, which would have been more efficient than actually going someplace. Some things weren’t discussed openly. Not even in front of military people.
They didn’t speak a lot, since the men there were just supposed to take him to an unmarked building. One that wasn’t marked on the outside at all. It wasn’t the Pentagon or anything. Just a small concrete square that looked like it might hold water treatment facilities inside. There were bushes outside, which had started to bud already. That didn't make the place nice.